


Flavourless Red Apples

by womanofcrows



Series: Portfolio Building [1]
Category: Original Story, Original Work, Original piece - Fandom, personal story - Fandom
Genre: 1 page, F/F, F/M, Flash Fiction, Little, Original Character - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, Personal story, Short Story, asexualty, character who is over 18, female writer, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womanofcrows/pseuds/womanofcrows
Summary: This deals with asexual thoughts, perhaps thoughts that have not yet been identified as asexual yet. It's about a girl, who - when drunk - found herself getting into a relationship which she didn't want to be in. Worst bit is, the guy/girl who she's with is actually very sweet. But she just can't love them the way they love her. It's a complex feeling and a situation which is hard for all parties. I hope this can resonate with someone and make them understand that they are not alone.
Series: Portfolio Building [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908925
Kudos: 2





	Flavourless Red Apples

I shouldn’t get into relationships. Because when I do, the only thing I think about it is how to break up with someone. 

I’m doing it now, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling – that’s definitely my favourite drawing board, what I return to when I feel most lost and uncertain. Ideas materialise on the roof and I consult them carefully; this is my way of counting sheep.

Texting the news is not an option. I’m in too deep for that. So that’s discarded. 

I breathe in through my noses, hoping that if I inhale enough oxygen, I’ll spit out an idea when I next breathe out. Instead the smell reminds me my bed sheets could do with a wash. 

I roll over, bringing the scent of sweaty sleepless nights with me as the covers brush against my skin. Summer is hot this year. Drinks get flowing, people get talking, fake people get too many drinks flowing. The usual August festivities spent at the club with friends.

I’m not a coward, or a bad person. I think. I’m just…

I’m just…

Well. Actually. I don’t know what comes after the ‘just’ for me. There’s always a pause, an uncertainty, like there’s a part of me that hasn’t downloaded yet. A part of me that everyone else seems born with, but mine is on the ninety-nine percent stage, and the loading bar has just given up before the finish line.

Just thinking about it makes me stressed. I mean, for gods’ sake, I’m twenty-three years old and there’s nothing there yet.

Maybe there will be one day.


End file.
